


before it ends

by officialvampyr



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: F/M, Intimacy, Just a Touch of horny, Morning Cuddles, Morning Routines, Soft Mornings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-07
Updated: 2019-10-07
Packaged: 2020-11-26 02:20:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20922560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/officialvampyr/pseuds/officialvampyr
Summary: It was a rare moment when they were able to actually prepare for battle. More often than not, it felt like they were the ones being marched on and attacked. The Alliance had no shortage of enemies these days, and whether it be rowdy bandits or the Empire itself, it was a norm for them to jump from their beds or their tents and throw together their armor. On days where it was different, however, the rituals became significantly more intimate.





	before it ends

During the night, a cold had snuck into the tent, causing Byleth to curl ever closer to the heater that found his way into her bed most nights. She rolled towards him, pressing against the curve of his back. Her legs fit between his, wrapping them together in a tangle. Her hand snaked languidly up his thigh before settling around his stomach, cold fingers greedily pressed against warm skin. She pressed a kiss to the tip of his spine, much too short to lavish him with anything more. Claude stirred slightly from the combination of sweet kiss and _cold fucking fingers_. At least she had the decency not to press her cold feet against his calf. She curled her fingers into a fist, tucking them against his navel. He made a noise of discontent, which drew a smile to her lips. “You’re a menace, my dear,” Claude murmured, his voice rough with sleep.

She loved the deep rumble of his voice in the mornings almost as much as she loved his significant body heat. As feeling began to work its way back into her fingers, she began tracing them innocently up and down, through the soft trail leading further down. Never past the hem of his sleep-shorts, though, despite the tempting way he spread his thighs and shifted his hips, inviting her to. As much as he loved being held in her arms (and he did, Claude was the biggest baby and the biggest little spoon when it came to intimacy), he rolled over after a moment, turning to face her and smother her against him. His thigh slid between hers, bringing her to much more alert than mere consciousness. “I think I should get you mittens,” he mused, tucking her under his chin.

Her hand moved from his abdomen across his hip. “But then I couldn’t do things like _this_,” she purred, taking a gratuitous handful of his ass in her palm.

“Well, you _could_,” he replied, voice a little strained. “It’d just be a little harder.”

One of these days, this would be over. They would not have to huddle for warmth in tents in the middle of a campground, and she greatly looked forward to the lazy mornings and _warm fires, warm homes _that awaited them in the future. She was going to keep her home at a thousand degrees, even if she had to use a fireball to do it. The added benefit would be that Claude would whine about the heat, inevitably strip, and… that was it, that was the benefit; a naked boyfriend.

Byleth angled her head, pressing a kiss to his throat. She knew there was no time for foolery, but she couldn’t help but indulge a little. She continued a path up his neck, along his jaw, and then finally on his lips, trying to ignore the morning breath.

“Keep up with that and we might have to postpone the end of the world,” Claude hummed against her lips.

She smiled in response. “Edelgard can wait.”

Claude’s hand was on her hip, traveling down her thigh until it reached the back of her knee. He greedily pulled it over his hip, smoothing his hand over her skin. Despite how cold she always was, she refused to wear pants of any sort to bed. These days, she preferred one of his large shirts that ended up fitting her more like a nightgown. He would be lying if he said he didn’t admire the way the shirt draped over her, or the easy access he had to miles of skin. It was truly disappointing they could not make the most of their morning. While Byleth dreamed of fires and a home in her future, Claude dreamed of pinning his beloved to the mattress and making her moan. The woman shivered against him, dragging him back into reality; he couldn’t tell if the shiver was from the cold or if she had somehow obtained the ability to read his mind.

Given the fact she could turn back time, he frankly wouldn’t be surprised.

“Edelgard can, but Hilda can’t.” Their moments alone were precious. Given that Claude was the leader of the Alliance and Byleth was the symbol of this whole rebellion, they were always being pursued and bombarded by _someone_. Whether it was one of their friends, an emissary, a messenger, or _Fodlan’s cutest baby_, they were always being interrupted. How many times had they been caught kissing each other? Too many to count. They could never fathom trying to keep their relationship a secret just because of the sheer number of people that had walked in on them in varying states.

And honestly, the last thing he wanted was Hilda to walk in on Byleth riding him.

_But_…

No, bad idea.

He kissed her again, then pressed his lips to the spot between her eyebrows. Gods, he could spend an eternity in her arms. Frankly, it was more enjoyable than what their near future looked like. When he thought about it, he felt _scared_. They were so close to the end, yet they still had so much to lose. How many times had Claude thought of abandoning their mission and simply whisking Byleth away to Almyra with him? He finally had something he couldn’t bear to lose (again), and every fight tested him. He couldn’t imagine a morning without her in his arms. Which was why he couldn’t quiet the nagging voice in his mind that asked _what if this is your last?_

Sensing that their morning cuddles were coming to an end, Byleth wiggled away from him.

Or at least, she tried to.

As soon as she began to pull away, Claude pulled her right back. His grip on her hip tightened, crushing her against him again. Their lips found each other once more, and he rolled them over so that Byleth was on her back and under him, Claude pressing her into the cot. She moaned into his mouth as he kissed her hard and possessive.

His lips tasted of promise and want.

And _also_ morning breath.

Byleth was breathless by the time she pushed him off of her, but there was a smile lingering on her lips. He wanted to melt into her. Her hand moved to cup his cheek, her gaze softening. “This won’t be the last,” she promised, her voice so soft he wasn’t sure if she’d actually spoken at first. He blinked at her.

Damn. Maybe she really could tell what he was thinking.

He conceded with a sigh. He moved to sit up in bed, taking a moment to actually stretch while she slipped out from under the covers. His gaze wandered to her as she moved about their tent. She dragged her pile of clothes—neatly folded—over to the cot and began the complicated assembly of putting her tights back on. Her shorts followed. She clipped her knee guard into place, strapped a dagger to her ankle and then slipped into her boots. She was still wearing the nightshirt, but not for long. She slipped it up and over her head, exposing her back. He scooted closer to her, helping her button the corset. He kissed her bare shoulder, nuzzled her neck. “Have you ever considered that your armor is _ridiculous_?” he asked. “Actually, I don’t even think it’s considered armor.”

She extended an arm, and he helped her into the white half-tunic that she draped across her side. He swept her hair out from under the fabric as she gathered and secured the extra fabric. A cascade of white tumbled down her hip like a waterfall. She clicked her vambraces onto her forearms, and Claude helped her adjust the pauldron over her left shoulder. He cinched the straps tight, but not to the point of limiting her range of motion. She rolled her shoulder just to check, then nodded. Next, her shoulder piece, the gold sash, and too many belts for Claude to keep track of.

Those goddamn belts had gotten the best of him many times before. They were complex and tricky, and he was usually too horny to put the right combination together to _untangle her._

“The extra weight just holds me down,” she replied. He left her to finish with the last pieces. Her knife would come next, then her accessories. “And I have that goddess ring for when I need it.”

This was not very comforting. If he had a say in the matter, she would be bundled entirely in steel. He would hate to see her get a sword across the chest because she was wearing a _corset _instead of a chestplate.

Claude slipped from the covers. For all the sass he gave Byleth for her outfit, it was not nearly as intricate as his own. Similar to Byleth, he started with his trousers, his boots, knee and shin guards. He tucked a dagger against his ankle the way she had taught him (“_Just in case of an emergency,”_ she had said). Byleth, having finished her own uniform, handed him a fresh undershirt. She had a fond look on her face as she smoothed the fabric over his chest, securing a piece of armor around his abdomen before he pulled his tunic over his head. “You have too many layers,” she commented as he draped his black sash over his shoulder. She was there with another to wrap around his waist and hold everything in place.

He couldn’t help but laugh. “You never see me complain about being cold though, do you?”

At that, she pulled her cloak around her tightly. “The heat of battle keeps me warm,” she retorted easily.

“The battle won’t be for several hours, teach,” he chuckled.

Byleth cinched the belt so tight he huffed an _oof_! “Then maybe I’ll have to sit in your lap the whole way there.” Her fingers were moving again, this time around his neck. _Another fucking scarf_, she thought. Growing up a mercenary, she had never learned about _cravats _and _ties _and other extravagant and _useless _items of clothing, but she did appreciate the way it hugged his throat.

It was also useful for hiding hickeys when she got a little too, uh, _excited_.

She fluffed the tail of the cravat, then let her hands skitter up his neck. They were still freezing cold as she pulled him down for another kiss. Her thumb traced through his beard. “You know, I miss that braid you used to have.”

“Am I not handsome enough?”

“Oh, my dear, you’d be godly.”

“Fit for a stand-in Archbishop?” he teased.

“Much more,” she assured.

It was a good thing he didn’t want anything more. “Help me?” he asked, holding up his own pauldron.

She took it and held it on his shoulder while he fastened it to the front of his tunic. Her fingers traced the silky cape that drifted down his back. “Give me as much shit as you want about my armor, but at least it takes half the amount of time to put on compared to yours.”

Claude loved the sass she gave him in return. It made him want to pin her to a wall just to shut her up for a bit. _And to think at one time I thought she was emotionless._ He couldn’t be happier about waking up this playful side of her. “I don’t think a girl’s ever complained about me taking my time before,” he chirped.

“It’s about quality over quantity, Claude,” she purred back. She took a retreating step, then gave him an appraising once-over. He puffed out his chest, posed to look as regal as possible. Byleth wrinkled her nose, recoiling suddenly. “Oh, goddess, what’s that smell?”

“What smell?” he asked, much more concerned than he would have liked to admit.

“Must be your _ego_.” She waved her hand over her nose.

He gasped. “Oh, you love it.” He reached for her, but she darted away with a laugh. “Hey!” He reached for her again, and a second time she evaded him. “_Get back here!”_ She ducked when he lunged. _Goddess help me._ He planted himself at the entrance of the tent, crossing his arms, _daring _her to try and run out on him.

If she wanted breakfast, she’d have to get through him first.

What Claude failed to realize was that tents, even though mostly nailed to the ground, were very easy to escape from. All it took was a little shimmying before one of the side flaps came loose, and Byleth slipped out unabated. She reappeared, poking her head through the flap. “Lose the ego before you stink up the whole camp,” she teased. “And brush your teeth.”


End file.
